Selfish Is the Heart Page 28

  His gaze grew wary. “Yes. I’ve read it, years long past now, but of course I did during my training.”

  “Deleon interpreted the story of Sinder and Kedalya by saying that when Sinder came upon her in the woods, she asked him his name. Fearing he would frighten her should he reveal his true nature, Sinder first lied and gave her a false name.”

  “Deleon’s commentary has wildly been denounced as whimsy. What name would Sinder give? What part would he play? As the Allcreator, he’d made the world. Who would ever mistake him for somewhat he was not? Certainly not Kedalya, unless she were an idiot.”

  Annalise continued. “Deleon’s commentary was extrapolated by Garwin Alsider in a pamphlet he distributed himself along with several others.”

  “I’m not familiar with Alsider.”

  “You wouldn’t be. He was never a priest, just a man who found value in study. He dined out on those pamphlets for many years and was quite popular among certain groups whose common interests featured the Faith. He was a guest of my parents many times.”

  Cassian raised a brow. “Your point is to make me aware there are commentaries about which I’m unaware? I assure you, Annalise, I know this. But Alsider’s pamphlets weren’t accepted as canon, therefore they’re of no more value than anything anyone could’ve written.”

  “Alsider claimed,” Annalise continued, determined to make her point, “that Kedalya knew Sinder wasn’t telling her the truth. She knew who he was. She allowed the lie because it served them both for him to woo her as another, first. One who was not a god, but a man.”

  He stared. “Make your point.”

  “Sinder lied to Kedalya to save her from himself and yet she loved him anyway. It didn’t matter what he called himself, or what face he gave her. She loved him anyway.”

  Annalise wasn’t on her knees, but she was Waiting. One hand inside the palm of the other, cupping air. She remembered the beat and brush of wings, a rapid heartbeat, the rush of air as the bird flew away.

  “You don’t need to save me from you,” she told him quietly. “Because I love you.”

  In her dreams, in the fae stories, such a declaration was always met with a kiss and an embrace, with mingled laughter and tears and followed by a wedding.

  This was not a fae story.

  Cassian said naught. She waited for him to speak, or even to blink, at least to look at her, but his gaze had gone blank and far away. When her ears began to ring, Annalise realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out. Dizzy, she put a hand on the desk. Surely now, she thought, he will reach for me.

  “You should go,” Cassian told her.

  Annalise managed another sip of air. “No.”

  Cassian slammed the text closed, the sound like thunder. “Did you not hear what I told you yesterday?”

  “I heard everything you said! Every word!”

  Now he moved closer, though not in the way she wanted. He menaced, standing tall above her without touching. His gaze, still cold fire, blazed.

  “I do not believe in Sinder and Kedalya. I don’t believe in the Word of the Book, I don’t believe in commentaries. All of it is pretty fiction, made up by men to satisfy their need for explanation. None of it is true. There is this world and the Void and naught else. I do not,” Cassian bit out, “have faith. A priest without faith is naught but a man. And a man without faith, Annalise, is no man at all.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’ve said it.”

  She stepped closer, this time to snag his sleeve. Her fingertips ran down the fine cloth to find his flesh at the end of it. “It’s not true.”

  He didn’t allow her to take his hand. Cassian stepped away and made her a detestably formal half bow. “Good day, Mistress Marony.”

  “Do not dismiss me, Cassian. Please.” Once she’d have demanded. She pleaded now.

  He’d moved away, but she drew close again, this time to slide her hands up the front of his jacket and then to his shoulders, the back of his neck. His hair, still so unfashionably short, brushed her knuckles. He turned his face and put his hands upon her wrists as she said, “Talk to me. Let me help you. What can I do for you, just tell me. I love you.”

  She didn’t hope for bells to chime this time. She didn’t even expect him to reply in kind. All she wanted was him to look at her, but before he did, the door opened.

  “Annalise! You’ve a letter!” Tansy stopped inside the doorway. “Oh, your pardon.”

  Cassian gently put Annalise’s hands from him and stepped away. “Take your letter, Annalise.”

  “This is not finished between us,” she murmured.

  Cassian didn’t reply. She turned, trying not to slay Tansy with a glare, and took the letter. Jacquin’s familiar hand slashed across the envelope, sealed with his family crest. She held it to her chest, eyes closed for a moment. It even smelled of him, the pungent spice of his cologne.

  “Thank you, Tansy. Come, walk with me.”

  Tansy looked over her shoulder as they left the room. “I interrupted. Your mercy. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s all right.” Annalise forced a smile. “It was naught of consequence. Come . . . I fancy seeing if we can woo Cook out of a sugar bun. I’m fair famished and could use a strong pot of cacao as well. Will you go with me?”

  Tansy grinned, then looked crestfallen. “I can’t. I was to deliver the letter and then meet Helena and Wandalette for a game of snap me in the library. They claim to have a method of losing I must learn.”

  “Losing? I might imagine you could do that without being taught.”

  “Oh, no, it’s a subtle way of losing so that your patron need never know you’re throwing the game.”

  “Ah.” Annalise said with a lifted brow, unable to take much pleasure in the humor of Tansy’s description. “Some can take pleasure only in winning fairly, yes?”

  “I suppose so. Are you well? I’ll stay with you, should you need me.”

  “No. You go. I’ve my letter to read.” Annalise waved her friend away. “Make most merry with your friends.”

  Annalise, when Tansy left, didn’t go to the kitchen. She had no appetite and was fair grateful for Tansy’s previous commitment, so that she needn’t keep on a brave face for the other woman. Annalise took her letter to their room and closed the door. She took a long embroidery needle from her sewing box and slit the seal.

  She began to read.

  My dearest Annalise,

  It’s with great sorrow and also the greatest joy I write to share with you our mutual good news. Sorrow, for I had long hoped the pair of us would make a wedded couple; joy to share with you somewhat I know you’ ll find as amazing and delightful as I.

  I’ve fallen in love and agreed to marry a woman of such worth, such beauty, such intelligence I can scarce describe her adequately with the poor tools of pen and ink. Moreover, my love for her is such that even the physical—dare I say it, especially the physical—aspects of a marriage have ceased to be so daunting. I tell you, my dear one, I’m no longer unable to be a true and good husband.

  By the time this letter reaches you, we’ ll have already said our vows. I trust you’ ll not despair at missing the ceremony of our binding—I know how important your time in the Order is to you and would never, as your dear and longtime friend and companion, expect you to leave somewhat you find so necessary in order to witness the wedding. Trust you we’ ll be thinking of you as with us in spirit, for I tell you truly, without your influence the marriage would never even take place.

  I wed your cousin, Caterina. As the daughter of your father’s only brother and his only heir, your father has considered his niece to be as a daughter to him, albeit one without need of a dowry from his own pockets. My place within the family business is still secure, as are your father’s coffers.

  As are you.

  I pray you’ ll find peace and joy no matter the path you choose and hold me ever dear in your heart as I will ever hold you.

  Your dear and faithful,<
br />
  Jacquin

  The bitterest bile surged into her throat, and Annalise swallowed fire. Jacquin, marrying Caterina? She couldn’t even find it within herself to be jealous. Nor disappointed. As far as she was concerned, Jacquin had handed her a gift as pretty and valuable as a diamond on a pillow of velvet.

  Why, then, did she feel so betrayed?

  Once not long ago, Annalise had told Cassian the Invisible Mother would find her wherever she was. Now, more than ever, Annalise needed Her comfort.

  The Faith didn’t require its followers to kneel, but Annalise got to her knees anyway. Waiting, Readiness became Waiting, Remorse, and finally, because it was the only way to gain some measure of relief, she slid her hands along the cold stone floor and pressed her forehead to it in the one position she’d sworn she would never make.

  Waiting, Abasement.

  If this was what it took to gain guidance, she would do it.

  The morn would’ve come too early no matter the hour she was woken, but as the sun had not yet even risen, Annalise was fair irritated to be roused. Blinking, scrubbing at her face, wishing she could convince herself she’d been in the grip of a nightmare, she swatted at the hand on her shoulder.

  Tansy didn’t seem to take offense. “They want you, Annalise.”

  “Who wants me?” She spun in her sheets, fighting the tangle.

  “The Mothers-in-Service.” Tansy sounded awed. “They want you to come right away.”

  “Is this common?” Annalise asked, annoyed but now also a little anxious at being so summoned.

  “They’re going to ask your intent, I think.”

  Some slow-turning tension twisted in her gut. Annalise swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood. “Do they always do it this way?”

  “I don’t know,” Tansy said more sharply than Annalise had ever heard her speak. “I’ve never been called.”

  “Oh, Tansy.”

  Annalise had never been the sort to seek out casual embrace, but now she put an arm around the other girl’s shoulders and gently squeezed. Tansy sighed and rested her head upon Annnalise’s shoulder for a moment only before pulling away. She went to the armoire and pulled out one of Annalise’s gowns.

  “Here. You’ll need to dress. Fix your hair. Don’t keep them overlong, it won’t look good. It’s bad enough you didn’t wake when Patience came to the door for you. You don’t want them to think you’re not interested in taking your vows at last.”

  “Maybe I’m not.”

  Tansy turned with a frown, dress hanging over her arm. “Of course you are. No matter what happened last night. Maybe especially because of it.”

  “What do you know of what happened last night?” Once again grateful to be sharing a room with one so responsible, Annalise went to the basin and pitcher and poured out warmish water. She splashed her face and rinsed her mouth. She washed away the final lingering taste of Cassian and refused to regret it.

  Tansy shrugged and held out the gown for Annalise to put on. “I’ll brush your hair for you, if you like.”

  “Tansy, you do know I thank the Invisible Mother for giving me you as a roommate, do you not?”

  Tansy bit her lower lip. “I wish I could be of more help to you, Annalise. More a friend.”

  “You’ve ever been a friend to me.”

  Tansy cut her off. “No. You’ve allowed me to be your acquaintance, but not your friend. And I understand, I do. I’m not as skilled, not as proficient. Not as bright.”

  “Oh, Tansy.” The tight knot of coiled tension grew spikes that jabbed. “Is that what you really think?”

  Tansy nodded as Annalise took the dress. “It’s what I know. It’s all right, Annalise. I’m used to it.”

  “It’s not true.” Annalise pulled the dress over her head and began with the buttons, undone to her waist, slipping them swiftly into their holes.

  It was not the gown Cassian had taken off her. These buttons were a little bigger, of carved wood. More difficult to push through the slots. Her fingers fumbled and slipped, and she muttered under her breath.

  “Let me.” Tansy finished doing up the buttons with swift efficiency, then reached for Annalise’s brush and gestured for her to turn around. “Now, your hair. Sit, it’ll be easier.”

  It was. Annalise closed her eyes at the steady stroke of the brush. Tansy knew how not to snag or pull, though Annalise had gone to bed without tying back her hair—the love tangles had snarled more thoroughly the few hours she’d managed to sleep.

  When she’d finished, Tansy pushed at Annalise’s shoulder. “There. Lovely. Now go.”

  Annalise stood but took Tansy’s hands. “I plead your mercy for not making you feel as though we’re friends. I admire you, Tansy, truly.”

  Tansy blinked rapidly, her eyes aglint with tears. She bit her lower lip again. Shrugged. A small, pleased smiled tugged one corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”

  “You should be the one being called. Not me.” Annalise studied her appearance one last time in the looking glass. Circles beneath her eyes told of her lack of sleep, but her hair and gown were neat and tidy, thanks to Tansy. “Just look at what you’ve done.”

  “Did I choose wrong? I thought the gown was one of your most flattering, though it’s one you wear the least—”

  “No, it’s perfect. Entirely appropriate. But don’t you see, Tansy? This is what you’re born to do. You’re well-accomplished, no matter what you think. I’d never have risen to the occasion for you the way you have for me. I’ve no doubts you’re ready for a patron. Many patrons.”

  “Sadly for me, you’re not a Mother-in-Service.”

  It was the only time Annalise had heard Tansy speak with anything akin to bitterness. She squeezed Tansy’s hands. She hugged her once more.

  “I’ll speak to them on your behalf.”

  Tansy sighed. “It will do no good, Annalise, the Mothers decide when we’re ready. No amount of pleading can urge them toward it.”

  “I shall speak to them anyway,” Annalise said firmly. “There’s no reason for me to be called now and you not. It’s preposterous, as a matter of fact.”

  At this, Tansy laughed. “If you don’t hurry yourself toward Mother Deliberata’s office, I think your pleading upon my behalf will do even less good than it will now. Go!”

  Annalise went through dark, silent halls to Deliberata’s office. She knocked. The door opened. She crossed the threshold, her head held high and breath tight in her throat.

  “Come in, Annalise. Please, sit.” Deliberata indicated a chair set in front of a semicircle formed by a love seat and several armchairs in front of the fire.

  Annalise took the single chair facing the others—Mothers Deliberata, Compassionata, and Prudence, along with a Temple priest she didn’t know. No Cassian. She didn’t look for him overlong, her heart too sore not from what he’d told her hours ago but from what he’d refused to share.

  Deliberata took her place in the elegant, high-backed armchair directly across from Annalise. “I’m fair certain you’re wondering why the early summons.”

  “Actually, no.” Annalise smiled at the older woman. “It makes sense to make such decisions sooner rather than later.”

  Deliberata smiled. “Of course it does. But you might be wondering why we called you here this morn, too early or no.”

  “Tansy said you were calling me to judge my intent. To see if I might take my vows. Take a patron.”

  “Tansy doesn’t speak for the Mothers-in-Service,” Prudence said bluntly, yet with sharp words.

  “Prudence,” Deliberata said with gentle reproof, “I don’t believe Annalise was suggesting she did.”

  “Is she wrong?” Annalise fixed Prudence with a bold stare. Of all the Mothers-in-Service, Prudence was the one she liked the least. The woman had a mouth like a coin-purse drawn tight, but without treasure inside.

  “No.” This came from Compassionata, who sat to Deliberata’s left. “Not entirely.”

  “We did call you
here to discuss your intentions, child.” Deliberata gestured at the others. “Perhaps prematurely, but it has been found necessary.”

  Unable to stop herself, Annalise looked at the priest. “Who finds it so?”

  “Sister Serenity raised the concern.” Deliberata’s smile didn’t fade and her gaze continued to be as kind as Annalise had ever known it. “She felt, based upon some personal observances, that it was time to judge if you were ready for your vows. If it was time.”

  Annalise kept her voice as steady as she could, but it still wobbled faintly. “What personal observances?”

  “We didn’t ask her.” Prudence seemed to find this disappointing or disgusting, mayhap both. “She wasn’t required to share them, either, unless the novitiate about whom she raised the concerns desires to know them. Do you?”

  “As much as it would seem to please you to hear them,” Annalise told the older woman coolly, “no.”

  “This is why she isn’t ready, Deliberata. I told you this and yet you refused to listen.” Prudence snapped her fingers in definite disgust and fixed Annalise with a steady glare.

  Annalise kept her gaze upon Deliberata. “Prudence is correct, Mother. I’m not ready.”

  “I disagree. Serenity certainly did, and she’s ever had the best of eyes when it comes to matters such as this,” Deliberata said.

  Compassionata cleared her throat. “You oughtn’t feel as though we’re forcing you to decide now, Annalise.”

  “Yet I feel forced.” Annalise cleared her throat to keep her voice as steady as it would stay.

  “Mother birds sometimes push their babies from the nest before they seem ready to fly,” Deliberata said.

  Annalise frowned. “And the babies fall to the ground and are eaten by cats.”

  “Do you think we’d allow you to fall to the ground?” Deliberata tilted her head to match her smile.

  Annalise didn’t. Not really. “I’m not sure what to choose. I’ve been uncertain since coming here. I’ve never felt ready to take a patron, ready to give myself up utterly to service.”